Alalëa
by Glenshadow9
Summary: "Dune swore. He was stuck in between a log and a dragon's rump in this hell-forsaken place." Okay, I suck at summaries. This story is about Alalea from before the Elves sailed to Alagaësia and the merging-point of two worlds and when the elves were still non-immortal and tragic scenes etc. Slightly non-AU, OCC. Do not read in the name of Shruikan if you don't like the idea.
1. Prologue

**ALALEA**

Hais :) This is my very first story so I'm a little bit nervous...

And if you are reading this, please cope with the very short prologue. Somehow I don't like them pro_longed. _If you find any interest in the prologue, please read on cus I'll post the first chapter immediately after this.

At first I wasn't planning for this to be a fanfiction, really. I only realized that it was too similar to the Inheritance Cycle when I finished Chapter 1... Then I decided it should be a fanfiction and changed some bits and pieces, so here it is. Actually I wanted to set the genre as fantasy/romance/humour/tragedy/whatnot, but apparently that didn't fit in. Anyway I just hope you enjoy reading it. ^^

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**PROLOGUE**

That damned night flight from Czecho – it had gotten him into this complicated mess. An empty, chill wind blew from the north, if not the south. His compass did not work, for some blasted reason. He swore. How had he, an ordinary and respectable young pilot in the twentieth century, come to be in this situation? The flight passengers, if passengers he could call them, were long gone and nowhere to be seen.

He shuddered as he thought about them. Those strange, dark figures – they hadn't been anything more than usual when they boarded, nothing out of the ordinary, just a plain, simple group of passengers. They'd stayed like that for most of the trip, until the plane hit that storm. He only wished they had stayed as passengers.

_So much for my luck,_ he thought bitterly, frowning at the desolate, empty land.


	2. How Things that Are Came to Be

Hais! Here's the first chapter - It's set as a flashback before the prologue. Just so you know it's not supposed to be the climax, just a bit of starting action to warm the engine. Ach, it never gets warm...

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**1. HOW THINGS THAT ARE CAME TO BE**

The storm suddenly loomed up front, seemingly materializing from the dark clouds. It was colossal, the likes of which had never been seen in history before. It filled the sky with its very presence, towering and ominous. Dune knew he couldn't avoid it now – for some reason it hadn't appeared on the radar, and now it was too close, too wide to cross. Even if he managed to evade the monster itself, it would be impossible to skirt it safely without being sucked in towards the core. The plane wouldn't stand a chance if it entered the vortex sideways. Her frail structure would be crushed mercilessly like dead leaves beneath the wheel. No, he had to face the storm headfirst from the front, at her strongest point.

He let the plane be willingly pulled towards the storm, making sure she always faced the centre. That, he concluded, would give them the maximum chance of survival. He'd decide what to do only when (although it seemed more likely to be if) they reached the eye. He took a swift glance backwards to make sure all nine passengers were safely seated and strapped. Despite the violent quakings of the plane, they seemed to be extraordinarily calm, almost unconcerned, of this usually very alarming event. They simply sat there, lifeless, staring blankly at the wall. Their arms hung limp from their shoulder sockets, some with their heads lolling, probably in sleep, leaning forward against their seat belts looking remarkably corpse-like. He shuddered mentally but ignored them, chastising himself for letting his frayed nerves play tricks on him. _Calm down_, he told himself.

The plane shook even more violently as it neared the storm. It bucked like a wild horse determined to throw him off. The steering handles vibrated, stinging his palms. He gripped it even harder in desperate defiance, forcing it to do his bidding with sheer willpower.

A strange feeling suddenly made him whip round, staring in disbelieve at the sight behind him. The passengers suddenly sat upright in unison as if they were puppets come to life as the puppet master pulled on their threads. They clawed at their clothes wildly as if to tear them off, baring their teeth and growling. A woman in the front seat began to convulse violently. A sputtering, gurgling noise issued from her throat. Her thin bony face turned into a hideous, twisted mask as she writhed in mockery of suffering, snarling between her clenched teeth. Her face began to turn red, purple, then blue. It turned bluer and bluer until she no longer looked human.

Suddenly she began to change. She grew rapidly, her skin roiling as though her bones were alive beneath it. Dune watched, transfixed with fear and yet weirdly entranced at the same time. The woman' ears grew pointed, becoming larger as they shifted upwards. Her eyes, Dune saw as she lifted her head, had become a sickly luminous yellow-green set with black slit-like pupils, abnormally large to the scale of her head; they occupied more than a quarter of her face, replacing her eyebrows with long, thick, waxy lashes. Her fingers and toes sprouted vicious yellow claws. Long, ultramarine blue fur split out from within her skin, forming a sleek, rippling coat.

She stood even as he watched, fully transformed and terrifying. By then he could no longer call the creature _her._ It was like nothing he had ever seen or heard of, part-woman and part-beast. Its ears were large and pointed like that of a wolf, and sharp claws protruded from the fingers and toes. Its face was part-human. The eyes were yellow-green and black, staring outward like wide crystal orbs. The nose had been replaced by a long, thin snout. The wide, hideous thin mouth had no lips, and when the creature opened its mouth Dune saw the razor teeth that lined it. A line dividing fur and skin curved in arches above the eyes, tracing down on either side of the nose till they met to a point on the top. Its neck, as well as was the rest of its body, was covered in thick blue fur.

Dune's gaze froze as it met the creature's eyes, unable to move away. Never before had he seen eyes so terrible or strange – a both alien and sinister glow seemed to emanate from within its unfathomable depths. His mind was numb from fear, and some other hollow, empty feeling he could not identify. It doubled the fear, overwhelming him, and he found that he could not think at all. All that his mind could register were the vaguely seen sides of the small plane, each on the left and right of him, nothing else.

Blankness.

He was obviously in a state of panic. He simply watched in a confused muddle, unsure what he was supposed to be feeling, as the creature gathered itself and turned away. To Dune it felt long, very long, as though its head were a slow-moving construction crane. He felt himself exhale, and realized he had been holding his breath. His mind was cleared once more as the eyes went out of his sight, but his limbs were heavy as he regained his senses. He felt so tired and old, old beyond measure, as if it had been ages since he had boarded this accursed flight, although it had only been less than two hours.

The creature took no notice of him, or so it seemed. It simply stood there in expectation as the remaining passengers all began to transform just as it had, moments ago. Dune watched with growing horror as the man opposite the wolf-woman split down his back to reveal dark, almost black fur. It grew to a massive size that towered to the ceiling even on all fours. Its hands and feet sprouted huge claws of obsidian, and its eyes became small and beady and seemingly without visible whites. Its ears were somewhat small and round considering his proportions.

Dune turned his gaze to the back seats. The old man who had been sitting in a seat behind them was now covered in brownish-green scales, flicking out a blue, snake-like tongue; a blue mane of the same shade ran down its back, ending at the base of its spine. Its hands and feet were also scaled, tipped with ivory claws. Its slit-like nostrils flared as the floor rocked backward.

Dune surprised himself by finding that he was not in the least shocked about their transformations, after seeing the first. He found he had somewhat known that it would happen, sooner or later.

Nonetheless he was shaken to the core, but flew on, for nothing else could be done. The storm seemed to have quieted a great deal while he was preoccupied, or it could have simply felt so after the greater storm indoors. Yet it definitely looked to him that the clouds had cleared, although the sky remained dark. There seemed to be an almost visible wall of cloud surrounding the plane, seeming to lean menacingly overhead as it disappeared into the dark heavens above. It took him a while of observing his surroundings to finally decide that he must have reached the centre of the storm without realising it.

It was then that he heard it – that peculiar cracking noise. It first began as a small, high-pitched clicking sort of noise, but it soon grew to such a disturbance that it became clear to him that something was evidently wrong. He dared a brief glance behind him to make sure that the creatures were not the cause. But they simply stood there, demure and unperturbed, seemingly not concerned about whether they lived or died.

He swung his head back, succeeding somewhat in his attempt to ignore them for a while. He concentrated on keeping the plane aloft, striving to maintain his rapidly decreasing altitude. He accelerated in desperation, trying to keep the engine warm.

Yet for all his efforts his attempts were in vain, and he was thrown in the face of his worst fear – falling from flight. The engine swiftly lost its power even as it sped on, and frost began to creep over the blades and fragile wires that propelled the plane. He heard the cracking of the frozen blades as they slowed, and he frantically prayed for something, anything, that could save him from what seemed to be his fate. Yes, the very will of Fate was playing against him, and he had lost all hope of survival. Yet if by any chance – if Fate had just one more card to give, hidden under His sleeve … then–

His thoughts were cut off abruptly as the engine died, and for a fleeting moment complete silence filled the air. Then the left wing tilted downwards, and it felt as if he were floating in the air. Tipped out of balance the plane spiralled out of control, plummeting towards the earth down far below. He was falling, and not even the Gods in the heavens high above could save him now – or so it seemed.

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So, that's it for the first flashback-chapter, and I know, it's pathetically short and very dramatic and all, but I promise, the next one would be completely devoid of drama, for those who don't enjoy it. X) – But, I'll still be writing in short chappies. Somehow I never manage to write long-enough chapters... *sighs*

And, please do review, if you have the time and inspiration. ;)


	3. The Rock, the Paper and the Barren Plain

Hais! Okay, flashback over, back to real time after the prologue. Sorry for any confusion.

And, just as a simple statement, I personally call this chapter Boredom. It fits. X)

Anyway I just hope you enjoy.

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**2. THE ROCK, THE PAPER AND THE BARREN PLAINS**

The land, Dune soon discovered, was like nothing he had encountered before, and truly barren. The ground was dry and dull, and unyielding as solid rock. No plant except for coarse, needle-like grass could be seen for miles around, far off into the pale, bleak horizon. An occasional tree or two stood as bent and twisted figures, lonesome and solitary. The fact that the air was dry and chill could also have contributed to his sombre notions, but the thing that struck him as most depressing was that the land felt – somehow, _dead._ There was no sign of life whatsoever, not even an insect, save for a lonesome bird flying overhead, travelling far in search of some foul remains of carrion.

Dune sighed and leaned against the rock he had slept over last night, the same plain, dull rock. He casually rolled his head sideways and looked at its rough surface, studying the minuscule details. Each tiny multicoloured grain reflected the light of the sun somewhere above his head, dully glinting in many hues. Most, as he saw them, gave off a greyish or reddish glint, but some occasional rare pieces would shine blue, black or silver. He even caught a faint glimmer of gold, though he could not identify its whereabouts. They were indeed fascinating, and were fair to look upon, yet somehow did not prove as a source of interest to him. The very air of these dismal lands seemed to dampen his emotions, smouldering the fire of enthusiasm within him.

He felt tense and tired after spending a sleepless night over the rock, and each passing hour made him hate it more than ever. However he was wary of leaving its shelter, for as empty as the place seemed, there was a brooding air that hung ever present in the atmosphere, as if his every move were being watched. It seemed to him as if the very land itself had eyes, and there was no escaping them for wherever he went the earth would still be beneath his feet. The land was always there, be he on the highest mountain or the in the darkest depths of the sea. A fear of that watching _something_ always held him against removing his cover, however hard he willed himself to leave.

He was hungry as well as tired, for he had had nothing to eat since his departure from the airport save a cold, bland cup of tea. He scored the field with his eyes repeatedly and then yet again, each time hoping to chance upon some kind of edible thing worth eating. It was not that he expected to suddenly lay eyes on a great feast set over the ground – just simply something, anything, that could be eaten. And indeed he truly meant _anything_, as the day wore on and he began to grow desperate. Even a plant other than a tree and the coarse grass armouring the plains was welcome. For all the time spent his hopeless attempts failed in vain, and the land seemed to mock him as he finally gave up and acknowledged his defeat to its unyielding flatness.

Thus his tension and annoyance. With another sigh he leant against the rough, solid rock and closed his eyes.

Dune opened his eyes in a start to the darkening sky, and realised that he had, in fact, fallen asleep. The prospect came as a surprise to him, as he had least expected himself to fall prey to sleep when he found it so hard to do so willingly.

He found no will to do anything whatsoever – not even to look for food. To him it was a fruitless effort in vain which he had long given up. He simply resigned to stretching beneath the looming shadow of the unwelcoming rock.

He no longer felt tense nor annoyed, but just tired. Very tired indeed, if it were a measure to be judged by. He dreamily lay there, recalling the events that had befallen him.

He had felt the plane fall beneath him, and with it and all the things in the world that were real. He could not tell where the sky and earth were. They were all a blurred mass of colours that had seemed plain and dull. He had resigned himself to Fate's open arms, watching the last, fleeting glimpses of reality slip past.

And then suddenly it seemed to him as if time had stopped. Everything slowed down to a halt, stretching out to an eternity. Then he knew no more. He had awoken to find himself surrounded by night on the plains, the same plains he currently sat on.

He rammed his hand into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of card. He methodically picked at the folds and smoothed the creases until he had a somewhat twisted mockery of the original model. "Midnight flight from Czechoslovakia". The top and bottom were both streaked with a thick acid-green border, framing the bold letters. It seemed too ordinary and somehow unearthly to match the dull, bleak colours of the plains. He scowled at the piece of paper before tearing it neatly in half; down the side of the letter F, splitting the O between "Czech" and "slovakia".

He stared at it, amused for a moment despite his loathing for the two pieces, then snorted and tossed them down roughly. Dune had intended for them to hit the ground, but they fluttered in the air and landed softly, unflustered. They seemed jubilant and spiteful where they sat gloating over their victory, daintily white and bright over the dull soil. He scowled again; everything in this loathsome place annoyed him.

After a while he looked at the pieces again, for boredom of nothing significant to look at. Despite his hatred, he concluded that at least these pieces were unique and worth looking at, which was one of all the things the plains lacked. Perhaps he would have felt a little better towards them if they had landed roughly with a crooked corner, soiled and dirty. And then and again, perhaps not. He had been in a foul mood to begin with.

After some more time spent studying the pieces, he snorted again. How had he come to be reduced to staring at two insignificant ends of a torn paper? He once used to be an professional pilot. No, he still was – wasn't he?

And he sat there pondering the question as the sun slowly rose and sank below the horizon, its dying light a dark pool of blood.

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Hm..., this one was slightly shorter than the previous chapter. It's hard describing bored people because it makes _you _bored. Now I can hardly keep my eyes open. = = I'm nocturnal, but that doesn't mean I don't have to sleep...

And thanks so much for reading, if you've gotten this far. ;)

Sorry if you were bored with this chapter, I'll try to add a little bit more progess next time.

And again, please review if you have the time and inspiration and mood to do so. ;3


	4. Fate's Iron Script

Hais! :)

So there, I have finally finished the third chapter, but it's still uneventful. At least with any luck the next chapter would be better... :L

This time I've added some hints and bits, though not much, just to add some interest. And I've gotten fancy with the metaphors this time, because I'm practicing them so I can use them to fill in the lines for boring english essays at school. I think metaphors are really good line-fillers, because you can fill in the spaces between very simple events and fancifully describe them (which usually gives you some extra marks) and cut them short to make the exact number of words the teacher wants. And ta-daa, you have your purrfect little essay.

Right now I'm wondering whether to end this tragically or happily-ever-after, or just neutral and a little sad like the original Inheritance Cycle series, but that doesn't really matter much yet, so I'll just stop babbling and wasting your reading time so you can get on with it.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the metaphors. ;)

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**3. FATE'S IRON SCRIPT**

Dune spent that night alternating between sleeping and gazing at the flat plains, just as he had the night before. He no longer felt the sharp pang of hunger – it had somewhat ceased to matter much to him.

He watched the sun as it slowly rose out of the darkness. Cordial colours began to bloom over the dark, chill horizon like a young fire slowly warming the black coals over a hearth. The glowing red orb gradually rose higher over the horizon, staining the dark canvas of the sky with drops of scarlet.

What this new day would bring was beyond his imagining, but whatever it was, he knew it was nothing good. His whole life had suddenly taken a sharp turn to plunge downhill ever since he had boarded that accursed flight that brought him to this place. Why all that came to be, and where things will take him, he knew, was entirely up to Fate. He had only to hope that Fate was not as cruel, fickle as He may be, to leave him in misery for long.

The new sun cast beams of light upon the grey plain, its warmth slowly but gradually seeping into each and every corner and shadow. A tinge of green and brown coloured the bleak terrain like watery paint splashed across a flat paper.

The Sun cautiously inched his way upwards, weak and wavering as though he was unsure of whether he was supposed to be or was needed in the sky, as if something would come suddenly along to denounce him.

Dune stared at him, trying to make the Sun move faster by sheer desperate will as he huddled against the rock, shivering.

But nonetheless the Sun took his time as was his due, and it was another few hours (or so Dune thought, for his watch seemed to have stopped working as well) before he finally got to unthawing the chill that had settled themselves quite comfortably in Dune's shoes.

But eventually the chill of the night quailed and fled before the light, and the air grew dull and warm. A soft wind blew over the Plains and the grass swayed gently in gratified response. Even the trees seemed less forbidding than they had been.

Everything was calm and peaceful, and for a while Dune was as content as he could be with his circumstances. Finding a way home began to matter less to him than it had. Nothing really mattered – everything felt so dreamlike, as if time itself had stopped. His watch had actually stopped, for one thing.

Just this flat, formless scenery. Nothing else mattered.

The Sun continued on his daily routine set before the dawn of time, travelling up towards the high blue peaks of the sky – or, as Dune thought, what should have been blue. Even the sky was thin and pale, weak and ailing. Fragile slivers of cloud floated serenely across it like slender, delicate wisps of smoke, trailing a feeble tail behind.

A small black shape flitted among them. Dune thought it might be a hawk. It circled high above his head, weaving in and out of the patches of clouds. It didn't occur to him that hawks usually don't fly that high.

His gaze travelled down, and his eyes caught on a somewhat smaller bird that might have been a swallow. It seemed to be flying around the same place – after a moment's studying he realised it was stalking an insect.

The dragonfly, as Dune identified it, was seemingly oblivious to the predator that threatened it. It lazily glided on a slight breeze, dipping now and again to brush against the tips of the grass. It occasionally floated upwards to caress the wiry tree-tops. It seemed so large and proud as it confidently sliced through the air, the afternoon sun gleaming amber on its back, its wings barely moving. It skipped over the grass from blade to blade, flitting about with a liveliness that somehow didn't fit into its background frame.

The swallow slowly moved in towards its kill. The usual person would probably sympathize with the dragonfly, but for once Dune found that his sympathy lay with the swallow. Everything was so scarce here that the dragonfly currently cruising over the ground was probably the last whiff of insect the bird would catch for a month.

The small black bird stilled the beat of its wings, steadying itself.

He also realized that he hadn't eaten for at least one and three quarters of a day. He felt a slight pang of envy towards the swallow for having found its prey so easily. But then and again, it probably seemed easy only because he hadn't seen the majority of the bird's efforts. Success always looked easy to the observer. Thoughts about eating caused hunger to begin gnawing at him again.

It tilted down, folding its wings double. The compact, wiry body shot through the sky towards the dragonfly, spinning like a drill. It angled toward its target with perfect control. Time seemed to slow as Dune watched it. The swallow slowly stretched out its wings, striking at the insect with its sharp beak wide open, snapping it shut with precise accuracy, halting in mid-air just before it hit the ground.

The hunt was a success. The bird proudly took off skyward, it's limp prey clamped firmly in its beak. Now that the bird had actually succeeded, Dune found himself feeling irritated. Why did the swallow, a bird, manage to find itself a decent meal, while he, a _human,_ had to go without? The small black shape grew smaller as it flew away, disappearing into the western horizon. Dune's eyes followed it with envy and longing still lingering behind.

Nothing significant worth noticing happened after that. Everything quieted down to its customary lazy pace, and the sun slowly snailed its way up to the peak of its arc. A train of smudged light seemed to trail behind on its path, like a glistening trail the garden snail would leave behind. Dune resigned himself to watching the black shape he had spotted earlier as it flew high above in endless circles.

An occasional cloud would bar its way, but it simply passed through without heed, and its pale grey shadow could be seen slicing though the translucent mist like a needle though cotton. Watching the bird gave Dune a sense of weightlessness. The small shape was so far away among the clouds – above three thousand feet, if he could recall from within the haze that had settled over his mind – that it could barely be told apart from the flecks of dust motes that floated in the warm, thick air.

_It must be cold, so high up in the sky. _Dune thought. _How does it manage to stand the chill? It should be frozen by now._

The black speck circled round and round, almost endlessly while the sun worked its way through the thickness of the air until it began to move downwards in a barely noticeable mild slope. Now it began to sink, still burning as bright as ever, and the air grew hotter and muskier.

Suddenly as if by a signal, as the sun reached that one specific point, the bird turned a sharp angle and flew away, towards the east horizon by Dune's reckoning, – even though his mind was blurred, he still hadn't found it that much difficult to get through to the fact that the sun setted in the west, not east – flying so fast that it appeared blurred like a shooting arrow. It quickly disappeared into the pale, bleak distance.

Now that even the bird was gone, Dune was reduced back to gazing over the plains, left with nothing save breathe to do.

The sun dipped lower, and a hint of a reddish hue began to darken it. The pale, icy blue sky acquired a warm tint. The Sun started to lower himself after a day of work into the waiting, welcoming comfort of his home in the far west.

As the ground ran red once more with the parting tears of blood that rained from the sky, a cloud of dust went up, silhouetted grey against the orange sun, and a lone black shape rose from the horizon.

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Sooo, that's about it, I think. It's sort of a cliff-hanger.

Anyway thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. :)

- No no no, don't get me wrong. I've just barely started. You've still only met the first major character.

And AGAIN, please review if you have the time and inspiration and the mood to do so. ... This is kind of becoming my repetitive script. Maybe I'll write it for every chapter. At least then I'll have something to write about. :L

But, of course, you don't have to review for all the chapters. Just one comment would be very welcome, and if you're writing one you have my most gracious thanks. ;)


	5. Nightwolf

Hais :)

So, this is my fourth chapter. To be honest this is the first time any of my stories reached this far...

But school's just started again - to be more specific it started two weeks ago - and I won't be able to update any earlier than in a month's time, I think. School life just sucks. :(

I tried to make it sound more serious this time, but I still couldn't help adding some supposed-humour. I hope you wouldn't mind.

Anyway I'll rid you of my useless babbling that's wasting your time now so you can get on with it. xP

It's always a bit short, but... Enjoyy.

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**4. NIGHTWOLF**

A dark shadow against the golden sun, the black figure emerged forth from the blazing horizon.

As Dune watched it steadily grew larger. At first it was a mere speck, a mote of dust barely seen on the horizon which slowly rose out of invisibility, growing in size till he could clearly see the human-shaped shadow that marred the fullness of the sun.

It seemed to glide over the rough plain, often shifting, never slowing its pace.

Now Dune could see more black shapes beside it, also growing larger. Grey clouds of dust billowed up into the darkening sky, left by their wake.

He waited, hardly breathing, glad that something worth the while was finally happening. And yet, a sense of foreboding shadowed his heart. Something was not right. This wasn't what he'd wanted. What he wanted was an escape route from this place, not… whatever that was steadily coming closer.

Soon, he could also see all the shapes clearly. He was puzzled. One of them, the first one, was man-shaped, but the rest weren't. They were an assortment of odd, irregular shapes, like animals. What or whoever they were, Dune was certain by now that they were running. This puzzled him further. Why was a variety of different animals running together? And if so, why would there be a person there, keeping pace with them? What would make any creature run as they did, now when night was rapidly approaching? What would make them risk even the danger of darkness? To that, he had no answer.

It seemed both seconds and an eternity to Dune before the figures finally came into full view. But there they were, within hearing range now, approaching at a tremendous speed. There was no fleeing them now, not now, not anymore. And Dune saw them clearly for what they were.

Yes, how could he forget that ultramarine blue? The beginning of his nightmares, his exile. What brought him here in the first place. It was _her._

Her, leading her pack in hunting, in pursuit of that one target. That was what the human figure was. The hunted, the target of pursuit, _prey_. Dune watched his pale cloak streaming behind him, and wondered if he wanted him to be caught. He did not want the creatures to succeed – he disliked them with every fibre of his being – yet he did not want these notorious creatures to be deprived of their prey, either. He promptly ignored the fact that it made him feel extremely selfish. If it was a choice between him and whoever was being hunted, he'd choose the latter any time, without hesitation – or at least that was what he thought. _If I was faced with that choice, I probably wouldn't have time to hesitate. Besides, if I ever came to making that choice they'd probably kill us both anyway. _He stopped pondering then, assured that it was a choice he would never have to make.

_I've had enough of them to last several lifetimes, _Dune thought with distaste. He huddled closer to the rock, glad for once that he wore a grey jacket, may it be his least favourite colour. He thanked Fate for once that the sun had set. The sky was a deep royal purple streaked with the dusky gold remnants of day.

Then suddenly the man swerved – he ran straight towards the rock where Dune hid, coming closer with inhuman speed. At the sudden change of wind, the hood of his cloak slipped off. Dune froze.

_It's a woman. _He realised with a jolt of shock. A woman, running like faster than if all hell was after her. – In a way, perhaps, that might have been true. Dune wouldn't think it an exaggeration if one called the creatures hellhounds.

Her copper hair flying behind her, the woman ran straight towards him, her wide eyes unseeingly sliding over him. Somewhat partially unfrozen once more, Dune cringed as the creatures wheeled round in perfect unison after the woman to face him. It never occurred to him that it was rather an odd thing, a _woman, _in some barren plains, chased by a wild pack of creatures and technically running faster than the average world record holder. Although it somewhat came to him that he should try to help her, he immediately dismissed the thought as impossible.

The pack closed in on the woman. She shot a frantic glance backward and picked up her pace. She swerved this way and that, desperately trying to outrun them. She moved so fast now that all Dune could see was a pale blur that appeared as little more than a shadowy smudge in the background. She would have looked like nothing more than a fragment of plain if she hadn't been moving.

The woman ran with grace that did not match her speed. She flew across the rough ground with long strides, reminding Dune of a deer. In her left hand was a gleaming dagger. Her long copper hair streamed behind her, catching in her wildly flapping cloak. She angled slightly towards the left, and the pack followed in perfect fluidity. They seemed to move as one, in a rippling scale armour of multiple shades. They drew ever closer to their target, till the lead wolf could almost snap at the woman's heels. She looked small and frail beside them.

The night-blue she wolf lashed out with her fangs, a vicious growl ripping from her throat. As she did so, the tip of her long white fang caught on the woman's cloak, and the woman stumbled.

The she wolf quickly pinned her down to the ground with a massive paw. She stared down at her fallen prey with cold, intelligent human eyes that glinted with gloating and contempt. The woman writhed and kicked as she struggled in vain to escape. The knife in her left hand was useless now, where its target was beyond reaching. The look of contempt on the she-wolf's face grew.

Dune watched in horror as the she wolf clamped her huge jaws down on her prey. With a single, powerful motion, she flung the woman weightlessly into the air. The woman landed heavily on the ground, almost thirty feet away, limp as a ragdoll. The she wolf slowly moved forward and bit down again, with massive jaws that reached almost across the woman's side. Her slim body hung limp from between canines six inches long. Dark smears stained the ground.

The she wolf flung the woman into the air once more, even further this time. Dark blood sprayed the ground as she released her hold. Dune glanced back and realised that the pack had stopped. This puzzled him. They watched, unmoving, as the she wolf moved towards the unconscious woman again. If they had been hunting, they should have joined her by now. Prey here was not so abundant that they would forsake it for anything. No, this was different – they had deliberately hunted down the woman, not to eat, but to kill. They had no intention of eating in the first place. Dune took to pondering why they would take to these measures to hunt down this woman. What was so special about her that they would give chase over so many miles, regardless of distance or time? _Maybe they just enjoy the sport of killing, _he thought. _I wouldn't put it past _them_. _They silently stood waiting for their pack leader to finish off their job.

This time the she wolf casually padded up to the woman and sank her claws into her arm. Blood oozed out from beneath her hooked claws. The she wolf stared down hard at the limp figure with bored eyes. By now Dune felt something boiling within him – neither fear nor repulsion, but anger. Swelled by a torrent of surging hatred, it clawed within him like a caged beast, threatening to explode. He gripped the rock so hard that his knuckles turned white, his teeth ground together. He forced himself to stay still.

Then the blue she wolf sniffed at the woman. She experimentally fixed her jaws on the woman's throat, unwavering luminous eyes trained on her face, and Dune wished her a quick and painless death. However, when the injured woman gave no indication of life, the she wolf relaxed her jaws once more and stalked away. She let out one high, piercing howl, and turned back towards the west from whence she emerged. By silent consent, her pack fell back in line behind their leader. As one they streamed over the miles of barren plain, and soon their shadow paled and vanished into the darkening horizon.

Then the last of the day's remnants faded away, and like a thick, invisible cloud, silence fell once more over the endless plains.

* * *

I know, it was rather very short. Sorry, I promise - maybe not the next, but the next-next one - will be longer. Well, at least I hope it will. It might just turn out short. It really depends. :/

Anyway please do review if you have the time and inspiration and the mood to do so.

- And thanks for reading my fanfic. x3


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